According to the Merriam-Webster, one of the definitions of martyr is victim. Speaking of which, I had a close call earlier today but now I am home in one piece so I guess I am Almost a Martyr.

I went for a grocery shopping and was driving down the street when I noticed a truck right behind me. It was a commercial garbage-truck looking thing. Not being particularly fond of a truck on my tail, I changed lanes. The truck did the same.

It’s just a coincidence, I thought. And changed the lanes back, if only to see what happens. And it did happen again.

I made a right turn into another street; the truck followed. This cat-and-mouse game continued in the same pattern for a few blocks, and even when I took a red light, the truck took it, too. Now it wasn’t a coincidence any more. Finally the truck turned into a side street and vanished. Gone.

All this flashed before my very eyes as I tried to regain composure and keep on driving. I was close to the state of panic. My heart was racing, my neuropathy kicked in immediately; likely BG levels followed close behind. I made it to the shopping center and took my time to calm down and get ahold of my senses.

Done with the shopping, I have made it home safely while watching the road around me like a hawk. Having jotted the truck plate number down, I made a call to a non-emergency police number. I described what happened and spelled out the plate number. I was asked what color it was and I said gray, but honestly I don’t know the color. I thought I was running for the dear life and the police asks me about the color?? Not that it mattered, as they aren’t going to do anything anyway. These were their words exactly.

After all, I have made it home in one piece, which is what counts. I am safely in my studio; my car is parked in the garage. Nothing is going to happen while the things are the way they are at the moment.